


Fathers Are Hard to Fool

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finwë finds that his son has arrived back early from the House of Mahtan where he has been apprenticed, and has brought someone home with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fathers Are Hard to Fool

Finwë hummed a little tune, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of that morning’s council meeting as he opened the door to his son’s room absently.  _That red velvet cape of his that Fëanáro had borrowed for last year’s winter festival must still be here… surely his son would not have taken it with him when he had gone to his apprenticeship with Mahtan?_ Finwë’s head jerked upwards in alarm, however, when he heard two strangled shrieks from the direction of the bed, as well as a flurry of sheets.

“Atar!” Fëanáro’s voice was uncharacteristically high. “I… I can explain…”

“Curufinwë!” Finwë was taken aback. “I hadn’t expected you to be home from the house of Mahtan for another week. And…” his son had disappeared beneath the sheets, but they showed the distinct shape of another figure beneath them “…am I mistaken or is that someone in there  _with_  you?”

“…No…” Fëanáro’s muffled voice came from under the sheets, but he remained beneath them.

Finwë could not help but smile. “Well then Fëanáro, barring the possibility that my memory is severely lacking, or that you’ve dyed your hair whilst you were away, would you please explain the fact that there is a lock of red hair sticking out the top of your sheets…?”

There was a short silence, and then a muffled sigh. “Nel, come out” said Fëanáro at last. “It’s not going to work.”

Slowly, tentatively, the face of a young red-haired woman peered out from beneath the sheets, wearing a mortified expression, freckled cheeks already starting to blush crimson. She was followed a moment later by Fëanáro, looking similarly remorseful. “Atar - ”

But she interrupted him, looking Finwë directly in the eye. “My King, I can explain, I am - ”

“The daughter of Mahtan, yes!” said Finwë, reaching out a hand to shake hers. “Nerdanel, wasn’t it?” He smiled, as she nodded slightly. “Fëanáro talks about you in all his letters, and although he is always frustratingly and most suggestively vague he is always extremely complementary, of course… I’m pleased to make your acquaintance at last, anyway. Although” he gestured around, “the circumstances could be a little more auspicious, I suppose. Fëanáro never did quite believe in mundane things like introducing his guests to his father. But then” he grinned as Fëanáro scowled. “This one never was one to pay much attention to convention when he can avoid it.”

“Pleased to meet you” said Nerdanel politely. She looked a little uncertain. “Your highness” she added, as an afterthought.

“Please, call me Finwë” he said.

“Atar” said Fëanáro again, sounding pained. “I can explain, we were just - ”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to explain! Just stay safe, and have fun.” He gave them a wink.

“No! No, no, it’s not like that, we were just discussing - ”

“Oh, my dear boy, it’s alright. I was young once too, you know.”

“Atar, no…”

He winked at them both, grinning. “Young and full of fire…”

“Atar. Atar stop.”

Finwë made a show of backing off a little, raising his hands in mock defeat. “All right! Leaving right now.” He backed his way out of the room, closing it behind him with a click and a smile to himself, deciding on the spur of the moment to find something different to wear to the winter festival.


End file.
